


Raw Spirit

by Kestrel337



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Except for the existence of James Sholto, Flash Fiction, Ignores S3, M/M, Magical Realism, OT3, Other, Polyamory, soul bonds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 06:03:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5956414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestrel337/pseuds/Kestrel337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has soul sight. It's impacting his relationship with his partners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raw Spirit

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to LonhornLetters for her lightning fast beta. 
> 
> My prompt was Raw Spirits. Which seems to have broken loose the words.

The room was silent but for two sets of breath, the curtains drawn to diffuse the bright day beyond the window. John had eschewed the sofa, finding its plump cushions poorly suited to his meditation. James, as was his habit, perched on the edge of a chair dragged in from the kitchen, straight backed and legs squared up to the seat and floor. Beside him, an app counted down, the screen of his high-end mobile growing steadily brighter until finally, a soft chime sounded. 

James opened his eyes and gazed down at John. There was no change to his breathing, but slight shifts in the muscles of his face indicated that he, too, was coming back from his flight. After a few moments he blinked, took a few deep breaths, and looked up at his mentor.

“You’re doing really well, John. I can tell you’ve been practicing. How hard was it to return?”

“Much easier this time. Easier going, and then I just followed my footsteps back.”

His scars pulled when James smiled, and he offered his pupil a hand up. “Once you’ve found it, it’s always there. I’m told that’s a hard thing to believe for those of us who came late to sight-seeing.” From the table beside him, James offered a plate of sandwiches and a bottle of spring water. “Here. Ground yourself out, and tell me how things are going with your...partners?”

“That’s as good a word as any,” John spoke between bites. “And it’s good. Yeah. Greg’s working a difficult case right now, and Sherlock’s furious that he’s not allowed to help anymore. So business as usual, really. How’s the book coming?”

The topic thus turned, John escaped having to explain the tension back at home. He promised himself he’d find a way to sort it out sooner, please all gods, rather than later.

~*~

It had started a few weeks previously, on what John had taken to calling ‘the morning after’. His sight didn’t always manifest during sex; or perhaps, it was more accurate to say it was only a factor when they were making love, however cringe-worthy he found that particular phrase. But hasty hand jobs before work, or quickies during the brief time they were all home, didn’t have the emotional resonance required to open his inner perceptions. But this had been a rare weekend when nobody had anything on. They’d been free to take their time, to let down the barriers and completely enjoy the moment. John had glimpsed Greg’s raw spirit, amber and orange and deep dark mahogany, as he cried his release. And Sherlock’s shortly thereafter, kaleidoscopic tessellations shivering and pulsing in time with the quivering of his body.

It was the most beautiful thing John had ever seen, and it was the worst thing that had ever happened.

~*~

“I wish I could’ve seen it.” Greg was wistful where he brooded over the football scores.

“Recorded it, actually.”

“Not the match. I mean, thanks, and all, but that’s not what I meant.” He didn’t quite meet John’s eyes.

“The other night, is all. I mean. Sherlock, right? He’s so gorgeous. I just wish I’d seen it, know what I mean?” 

John very much feared that he did know, both what Greg said and what went unvoiced. Here was a part of Sherlock that belonged only to John. Nevermind that John was part of The Work, and Greg couldn’t be anymore. This had happened when they were together, all three of them, and maybe Greg didn’t have the sight but there was an intimacy implied in being able to glimpse that shining truth. In the end, he’d had to let the conversation stumble to a halt; his vocabulary didn’t run to explaining the difference between ability and intimacy, even if he’d been inclined to speak such things aloud. He knew Sherlock’s connection to Greg was as deep as to John, and Greg was a clever man. He’d figure it out.

~*~

“What is it like, though?” 

“I’ve already explained it, Sherlock. Can we talk about the case now?” 

“I...yes, fine. Expired medications, repackaged and sold on as new. Do you think you’d be able to soul-search the secretary, see if she knew about it?”

John resisted the urge to pound his head against the cab window. “It doesn’t work that way. I can’t just look at anybody and see it.”

“No. Just Lestrade.” 

“And you,” John reminded him. 

“You were involved with Major Sholto. Can you see him?” He nearly glared at John and bit out the next question. “Can he see you?”

John pursed his lips and shook his head. “No, and I don’t know. I doubt it. We both came late to it.”

“Could he have, if he’d had his gift when you were together?” 

The cab pulled up outside the plant they were visiting, and John hurriedly paid the cabby before pinning Sherlock with a knowing look. “I don’t know, Sherlock. Are you sure this is just scientific curiosity? Because it’s starting to sound like something else.” Not that he’d been fooled, but this was becoming ridiculous.

“You think I’m jealous.” 

John hummed noncommittally. 

“I’m not jealous. I am merely curious; it’s an area of knowledge that is closed to me, and I don’t like not knowing.” 

“Yeah. Come on, let’s go question the staff.” 

~*~

James didn’t laugh, when John brought the problem to him. He shook his head, and clapped John on the back. “It is possible, of course. But it will require enormous control on your part. In the ordinary way of things, you’d never be able to do it at this stage.”

“I don’t understand.”

James leaned forward in his chair. “I’m going to be very frank. You said you glimpsed both of them during what you called ‘a heated moment’. I’m guessing that means sex.” 

John’s head bobbed in a single nod even as he looked away. 

“That’s when it happens for most of us, the first time. As you practice, of course, you learn to tap into that vision at will. And you can show another person what you’re seeing. Usually someone you’re close to and trust deeply. Because they’ll be seeing, essentially, with your sight. Here’s what you’ll need to do…”

 

~*~

His first instinct, ordering them into the bedroom and just getting this the hell over with, wouldn’t be conducive to the relaxed and receptive state they’d need to be in. And it Was Not Done, to attempt a link with the other party unaware. So he took them aside, each in his own time, and explained what he was going to try, and why, and what they could expect. 

All it needed was an opportunity, which presented itself some weeks later. John carefully set the stage while Greg dragged Sherlock on a shopping run; not ideal, because Sherlock would be in a sour mood, but that was more easily overcome than the mangled mess he’d make of John’s nerves by questioning every bit of the preparation. 

They arrived home just as he finished putting the chrome armchair in the bedroom. “John? We got some of that pasta sauce you like…” 

Greg’s greeting was cut off by Sherlock demanding, “Where’s my chair?” He poked his head around the door.

“Yes, it’s in here, Sherlock. I’m setting up for our-”

“Oh! You want to do it tonight? Excellent idea; with all of us off tomorrow, we can test for repeatable results.” 

“Um. Yeah. Sure. So...you’re okay with this, then? Greg?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“It might not work.”

“So we get an excellent shag and some together time. That doesn’t sound like such a bad thing.” He sealed his answer with a kiss, then held out his hand to pull Sherlock in. “You’re wound pretty tight. Get you out of your head, yeah?” 

Sherlock’s nod was their cue to begin gently peeling away the layers. John knelt and pressed his hands to Sherlock’s thighs, letting his palms warm the soft fabric. He could feel Sherlock’s heat, too, and he dragged his hands slowly down to clasp his ankles, before bringing both hands to Sherlock’s right foot and tapping. 

Greg had pulled away the jacket, it’s weight pulling Sherlock’s arms down to rest beside his hips. Rather than simply pulling it away, he took each hand in turn, caressing the knuckles and palms before guiding them through the sleeves. Sherlock watched him cross to the wardrobe while he picked up his foot in response to John’s commanding tap. 

John gently untied each shoe, slipped them away, and handed them off to Greg. Above him, he could see Sherlock’s eyes drifting closed, his shoulders loosening, all the long lean muscles softening from their perpetual readiness. “Breathe, love,” John reminded him, and rubbed the heel of his hand into the dip of Sherlock’s spine. 

Sherlock’s deep inhalation covered the soft clinking of his belt, his lengthy exhalation mirroring the slide of leather along fine wool. 

“That’s right.” Greg took the belt away, and John stood up with a bit of difficulty, one hand grounding Sherlock here, in the room. Then Greg was back, unbuttoning the fine shirt, and John stepped away and began matching his breathing to Sherlock’s. The white cotton parted, and John let himself open up and out, inner eyes blinking at the scene before him. Where Greg’s outline blurred and joined the shadows of the bedroom, Sherlock’s was defined and sharp, a spectrum of bright lines drawn close about him. And then he was stripped, naked but for the rainbow of light only John could see, and lying on the bed to await what came next. 

John turned to face the shadow that was Greg. All along one side, closest to the bed, bright colored lines were stretching toward him, winding about his arm and leg. John blinked, inner and outer sight overlapping momentarily before his physical eyes took over, and stepped up to Greg’s other side. “You two,” he said, pressing kisses along Greg’s stubbled jaw. “You’re so bound up already.” The buttons slipped easily through their holes, the plain working man’s shirt dropping to the floor. John reached, found the next layer of his inner walls, and pushed. Pushed again while he fumbled at Greg’s trousers, and felt them beginning to yield. A spike of bright pleasure-pain-pleasure, Greg biting his neck, and they didn’t so much crumble as vanish. The shadows that had surrounded Greg were still there, brown and gold and red, but now they were underlaid with a deep glow, the gorgeous presence that was Greg Lestrade. 

Greg pulled back, off John’s neck, and stepped out of the trousers that had pooled about his ankles. A moment of relief that he always kicked off his shoes the moment he stepped in the door, and he was back on John again, fingers flying over his buttons. “I can feel you. John.” 

“Skin to skin,” John explained breathlessly, hardly daring to open his eyes and risk losing the link. “I guess it applies to lips.” 

But now the colors that were Sherlock’s raw spirit had begun to withdraw. John wasn’t having that, and he directed Greg onto the bed. This part was familiar, something they often did when Sherlock was having difficulty being in the moment. Greg straddled Sherlock’s thighs, the outline of his cock in his pants making John’s mouth water. John began to undress, watching Greg’s fingers mark out Sherlock’s muscle groups, tracing along his spine and brushing over his nape. John blinked, and the blocks of color had been renewed, tangling around Greg’s hands like a lover’s hair. 

John, naked now, crawled onto the bed and settled next to Sherlock, pressed against him from shoulder to knee. When he tucked his hand beneath Greg’s knee, the connection thrilled through him, dancing and sparking along his very bones. “Sherlock. Sherlock, roll over now.” This would only work if he was facing them. 

Greg leaned over and clasped on hand firmly around John’s bicep, using the other to strip out of his pants and letting Sherlock flip onto his back. Before the connection so much as stretched, he was back, tilting to one side and pressing his lips to John’s. 

“Skin to skin,” he said, and licked along John’s jaw. 

John gasped, his inner eyes nearly blinded by the burst of light that flowed across the link, pouring from his lovers into himself, sluicing across the shoreline of his mind only to recede back toward them, dragging him along. Greg’s bright gold, sunshine on a summer afternoon, and Sherlock, silver rain and all the colors afterwards. And there...the blue-green of underwater depths, washing over them all. John’s own spirit, made visible through the eyes of his loves. 

He felt it, cried out as their energies wove and twisted together, felt his grip on the link slipping, felt it torn from his control. But it didn’t break. Once he’d loosed his grip, it grew, brighter and so full, encompassing all of them, the edges blurring into brilliant white light where they bumped together. 

Greg leaned down, shimmied and slid, until his mouth came up against John’s cock. So entranced had he been by the bonding of their souls, he’d not realized until now how terribly hard he’d become. He noticed it now, though, Greg’s mouth hot and wet around him, and groaned. A glance down and Greg’s eyes were on his, the brown overlaid with green and sparking with orange, with purple, with grey. John blinked, and saw that Sherlock was pulling at Greg’s thighs, turning him slantwise on the bed, bringing him in reach of his own delightfully plush mouth. 

When Sherlock took him in, Greg’s shout vibrated all along John’s length, and he knew what he needed to do. Somehow, he prodded Sherlock until the three of them were tied together, a human triskelion on the deep blue cotton, and the room filled with muffled moans. Sherlock was heavy against his tongue, bitter already, and John took him in with short movements. Forward, then back, tightening his lips on the return, then forward, a bit further, pressing with his flattened tongue. Distantly, he felt his hips struggling to thrust, held back by Greg’s grip, and he shuddered in frustrated need. For his part, Sherlock wasn’t moving much more than his head, but the filthy slurping noises he made filled the room and fired John’s blood. Through the link, he felt Greg’s dark desire, Sherlock’s incandescent pleasure. He was Sherlock-John-Greg, they were John-Greg-Sherlock, burning and burning with the desire to grant one another pleasure. 

Greg’s lips pulled at him, tongue flickering over his slit, and Sherlock bucked up against him. And then the light exploded, Sherlock’s rainbow shattering into the kaleidoscopic shards, a window lined in blue and lit from behind by a glowing sun. Greg’s amber glow flared bright and brighter, filtering into John’s swirling depths. It was too much, and not enough. Bitter salt surged against his tongue, Sherlock’s climax echoing across his own flesh, and he fought to swallow it down as his body spasmed. Greg let out a whining groan, letting John slip from his mouth with a gasp and shudder.

They lay there for a while, panting, heads pillowed stickily on each other’s thighs. Then Greg shivered, raised his head, and whispered, awed, “I can still see you.”

John reached, and felt the bond between them. It was quieting now, the glow softening, separating into individual strands, but still twined gently together. Sherlock was staring at them both, for once his eyes not flickering but simply watching. “Will we always...oh, no it’s fading.” 

“You won’t be able to see it, I don’t think. Not always. But it’ll always be there.”

“You love us.” Sherlock and Greg spoke together, and it wasn’t quite clear to whom each spoke. 

“I think that’s been established all ‘round.” John yawned and shifted, preparatory to sorting them into a better sleeping position. 

Sherlock and Greg curled themselves around John, who for once didn’t complain about being in the middle. Their legs tangling over his own less claiming, more joining. He was theirs, and they were his, joined forever more in raw spirit.


End file.
